The things they ate

I'm not a total foodie, although I do love food ... good food ... and good wine. But I am always amazed/impressed/baffled at the odd ordering habits of women. Today Matt and I enjoyed a long Rex brunch where, in typical fashion, I eaves dropped on the tables around us. I don't mean to do it - I just have good hearing. Heh.

The order to our right was a side of ham and a side of potatoes - and they could NOT touch. Maybe the woman ordering enjoyed one too many episodes of Monk. To our left the order was just as odd - a side of cut up avocado (no guac please) and a toasted English muffin (not too toasted please).

Both orderers had blond hair - just throwing that in for a random close.

I like it dirty

Get your mind out of the gutter grosso - I mean running. I have been trying for months to get into the Nike Women's Marathon (the greatest marketing tactic and fund raiser I've ever seen). I entered the lotto for the full the day it opened, then, after not getting in, I attended all the mixers in the city (spending way too much money on Nike tanks I really don't need). The mixers were to get entry into a drawing that happened on the first Nike Club run - today. I still haven't gotten in, bummer (!!) but now I'm not so sure I want to. Maybe that's the bitter side of me, though, acting out for now making it.

The entire race and training is shrouded by excellent marketing and PR. At the training today over 100 girls gathered to cheer each other on, drink Jamba Juice, and try on Nike shoes for a one-mile run. At the end of the run were massage chairs where folks could get foot or shoulder massages - I don't really like being touched in general and the thought of a post run sweaty massage isn't that glam to me.

After 2-hours of cheering clapping pink clad runners, I've decided I like it dirty. I prefer the trails where there's no high five after mile one - instead there are dirty bloody kneed runners passing by gasping "good job" or simply grunting and nodding in acknowledgement that yep, it's a tough trail and good job.

Again, though, I could just be bitter. Had I gotten in maybe I'd be typing now in a pink Nike zippy with feather boa trimmed running socks.

Tagged

Emily “tagged” me with six questions and, not being one to stop a chain letter or email forward, here I go:

What did you do 10 years ago?
I was a senior at Drake High and was SO ready to get out of Marin for the green pastures of Cal Poly.

Five items on your to-do list:

1. Train for Boston Marathon (I guess if I got in I should try to keep up with the “real” runners)
2. Clean our house … or find a good local cleaner
3. Prep for our canoing/camping weekend (this is more mental prep as I’m not really a camper)
4. Get tickets to Boston for Lily’s wedding
5. Kayak – it’s been too long

Snacks I enjoy:
Rice cakes (no, really), coffee (is that a snack?), oranges, little candies (mm mini Butterfinger), dried mango, grapes, carrot sticks

What would you do if you were a billionaire?
Have a house on top of Russian Hill with parking, a house on the beach in Mexico, and a condo in Bruges. Get a trainer. Start a school or fund for global education emphasizing comprehension, the arts, and history. Buy lots of “trannie” shoes.

Places I would live:
San Francisco, Bruges, Madrid, New York, Boston, London, Singapore, Korea.

Jobs I have had:

• Library docent
• Camp counselor at special needs camp (in Hawaii – tough)
• Café server
• Clerk at the Gap
• Barista at our college coffee shop
• Publishing intern (very glam indeed)
• Teacher (LBLP)
• Consultant for schools (LBLP)
• Account manager/business development
• Marketing manager

I tag Molly and mom.

The streets have no shame

I typically walk to work looking up – it’s amazing what you’ll see/learn about the city if you just look up. For example, did you know that the Scientology Center is in the Transamerica Corporation Building? Or that in the right light Coit Tower looks like Darkwing Duck’s lair?

This week, though (mainly due to weird stains on the hems of my pants), I’ve been walking eyes down and have learned the streets are gross! Don’t worry, I’m not going to continue my 5^th grade diatribe (from the flight home from Orlando) relating the guttural sounding grates to anything.

Here are a few highlights from my eyes to ground walk to work:

• Broadway St. – every morning at 7:30am the street is scrubbed – I haven’t noticed this on any other street and find it rather odd that the one street where peoples “stuff” is encouraged all over inside the buildings (which one would think discourages excess dirtyage on the outside of the building), is the one street that gets a morning shower.
• China Town – the smells here speak for themselves and the streets are filled with truck un-loadings as workers bring pigs and ducks to the shops.
• Financial District – I’m always amazed how many cigarettes are scattered on the streets weaving in and out of the financial district. Those stock brokers and bankers must be stressed!

There are pretty parts, too. Sometimes I see flowers strewn on the corners of Mission left by vendors shutting down (I’m assuming vendors and not hopeless romantics wooing the city). Then there’s the odd tree or weed growing through the sidewalks – the city version of nature.

I heart predictable

Today was a perfectly predictable day in the city. We woke to the sound of tourists lining up and honking on Lombard. Upon rising there was the familiar SF chill cast by the fog. I made it up and out by 9:30 to meet GGRC at the warming hut for an easy 7.5 mile job through the Presidio. We happened upon the typical twinsie dressed new parents pushing their San Franciscoesque strollers sipping on the city drink (no, not a chilled bottle of Napa Pinot G – a Starbucks. Yeesh).

Post run I made it to the market which was predictable. The rich hippies were pushing to get free tastes of expensive organic cheese and the checkers were all checked out and reminiscing on their bon fire dances from the night before. The total, predictably, was quite expensive totaling the equivalent of 3 excellent Polk St. meals. But I feel healthier for perusing the fancy organic aisles, so it’s all, predictably, worth it.

Driving home I dodged the predictable city drivers – one hand on Blackberry, the other scolding the twins in the back of their SUV. Coming to a light I was prepped for the last second left turn when a man motored out in his electric wheel chair, then decided to stop and take in the sites while I watched the cross light go from yellow to red. I wanted to wave hello (one finger wave) and honk in typical fashion, but you can’t very well honk at a person in a wheel chair, so I worked on my patients while quietly fuming.

Now, I’m enjoying a perfectly predictable movie (27 Dresses) with the extra background noise of tourists on Lombard. I love predictable days sometimes – I truly feel like everything is just right.

I heart predictable

Today was a perfectly predictable day in the city. We woke to the sound of tourists lining up and honking on Lombard. Upon rising there was the familiar SF chill cast by the fog. I made it up and out by 9:30 to meet GGRC at the warming hut for an easy 7.5 mile job through the Presidio. We happened upon the typical twinsie dressed new parents pushing their San Franciscoesque strollers sipping on the city drink (no, not a chilled bottle of Napa Pinot G – a Starbucks. Yeesh).

Post run I made it to the market which was predictable. The rich hippies were pushing to get free tastes of expensive organic cheese and the checkers were all checked out and reminiscing on their bon fire dances from the night before. The total, predictably, was quite expensive totaling the equivalent of 3 excellent Polk St. meals. But I feel healthier for perusing the fancy organic aisles, so it’s all, predictably, worth it.

Driving home I dodged the predictable city drivers – one hand on Blackberry, the other scolding the twins in the back of their SUV. Coming to a light I was prepped for the last second left turn when a man motored out in his electric wheel chair, then decided to stop and take in the sites while I watched the cross light go from yellow to red. I wanted to wave hello (one finger wave) and honk in typical fashion, but you can’t very well honk at a person in a wheel chair, so I worked on my patients while quietly fuming.

Now, I’m enjoying a perfectly predictable movie (27 Dresses) with the extra background noise of tourists on Lombard. I love predictable days sometimes – I truly feel like everything is just right.

Oh what a wonderful weekend! Oh what a wonderful day!

I love summers in San Francisco. Today was a scorcher and it was an SF summer to the core. On top of the perfect weather, glowing white bodies, street side dining, and excellent sales, it was a perfect friend day.

For Lily's bridal shower today, Susan coordinated the perfect event at Lovejoy's Tea Room. We met at 3:30 for tea, sandwiches (no crust - never tried that one before and I now have a new culinary notch on my belt), crumpets, scones, and cream. The group who met up to celebrate Lily's upcoming wedding were amazing - truly the kind of people who make you feel better for getting to spend time with them.

At the end of the tea, Lily's mother hired a tea leaf reader to come and tell our fortunes. After each fortune was read, the girls seemed to come back baffled murmuring "she knows me ... weird!"

My reading, on the other hand, went something like this:

"Your husband is firey and it can be difficult sometimes." Matt is the most mellow person I've ever met and he evens me out.

"You think too much before you speak and often hold back on things you really want to say." I often have diarrhea of the mouth and words seem to fly from my brain to the strangers and acquaintances in front of me.

"You'll grow much closer to your sibling this year." I'm an only child.

She did give some good advice, though. I asked how to further my career and she said to look up to and learn from my boss. I agree with this advice.

After tea I came home to my sick Matty and we rented 27 Dresses on pay-per-view. A perfect chick flick to the core. The flick inspired me to try on my wedding dress and I'm thrilled to say it still fits. Woohoo! Even more thrilled to reminisce on the fact that my dress was only $175 - off the rack, no alterations. Because of the deal, I was able to buy 2 pairs of Manolo's and a pair of Jimmy's in varied shades of ivory and white. I love weddings.

Like

I don't know why but the constant overuse of "like" is like nails on a chalkboard. I'm dismissing the fact that I used it in the previous sentence, btw, because that's not the use I was talking about.

Walking to get a coffee this morning Matt and I overheard two particularly like filled conversations. Riveting, I swear.

"Like, then she said ... like, I couldn't believe it! And then, like, you know, um, like, well, it went like this ... wait, like?"

Enough with the "like," please pause, think, and continue.

Senses: sounds, smells, and sites

I love this city. I truly do. Sometimes, though, I need little reminders - like when my middle finger is hurting from helping other drivers do a better job, or when I realize at the rate I'm going I won't be able to buy here for another 35 years. But today was an especially SF kinda day.

I woke this morning to the barking of sea lions - something I rarely get to hear. At first I thought it was Matt's snoring, or the shouting from our neighbors next door, but nope - it was nature in our beautiful mucky waters. By 6am I had my Mizunos laced up for a precursory run and was out the door.

After hitting the street I was overwhelmed with the non-native to SF smell, skunk. I don't know where the stinker wandered in from - Marin maybe?

When I made it to Chrissy Field I was drenched - it's not that far to Chrissy, trust me - it was hothothot! It's like middle America came for a visit.

So I've covered the sounds and smells, so on to the sites.

After work I ran to Metro Sports - I'm still trying my darndest to get into the Nike Women's Marathon and they're holding drawings so I had to go shopping. Tough life. On my way to the lotto (aka store) I came across some SFisms. There was the mini van with no windows painted pink with a Barbie logo across the car ... now tell me, would you like your kids rolling around in that? Uh uh. Then there was the Obama bumper sticker covered car. Now I'm all for Obama (go Obama go!!) but top to tire? Finally, there was the street giveaway. I am a huge fan of street furniture and giveaways, in fact, when Matt and I first moved in together we couldn't afford any furniture (I could afford Choos, but that's different) so our first couch was street couch. I loved that couch. Still a bit itchy, but whatever. This street giveaway was a bit odd a free orchid (notice the lack of dirt or flower in the pic).

I see your true colors ... isms

People show their true colors in the funniest ways – often when they think others aren’t looking. There are a few types:
The gym guy:
This is the guy you catch eyes with in the mirror (when really you were just scanning the room for the 15 lb free weights) and he seems to inflate by ~10 muscle pounds. When he thinks you’ve looked away (when the hunt for the weights continues) a paunch appears and the inflated look turns lopsided.

The Friday night girl:
This is the type who curls her wavey hair and puts on a pair of jeans or skirt two sizes too small. She giggles at jokes and non-jokes, waddles in the cutest way possible, and is intrigued by all around … when people are watching. When people aren’t watching the muffin top appears (that's why I love spanx), giggle turns to grimace, and hair gets put back into perfect tossled place.

The moderator:
Now panels don’t really allow time for folks to put on a show or put their show on pause. The hood is lifted and true psyche is there for all to see. Today I witnessed a particularly painful panel with one particularly interesting moderator.

Today’s moderator had his own agenda – his own core pitch to share and his own story to flaunt. He did not introduce any of the panelists, nor did he seem to know who was on the panel. After giving his pitch he simply said, “so what do you think?” nodding to guy #1 on the panel.

After all 5 panelists went through and introduced themselves and talked a bit about the topic that was on the agenda, the a question was raised. The moderator swung it straight to the panel as he didn’t seem to know (or even know the acronym the question referred to). After guy #3 bottom lined the proper answer with anecdotes and predictions, the moderator seemed clearly distressed – he was losing the show. He started to hoola, swaying side to side, unknowingly. Then his arms moved with his hips. Pretty soon he was pursing his lips trying to think of a report but by then it was all over – the bald spot on his head started to sweat making his comb-over seem to float up as if on strings. It was a bit sad at first, but then he tried to take back the show arguing with no argument. This came with a forward pelvic thrust (at which point I nearly had to leave the room it was hurting so much to hold in my laughs).

Ah true colors – when they shine through they can be quite vibrant.

Tis the season for great meals

It's my favorite produce season right now which means it's time to get back in the kitchen. Living in Russian Hill we're spoiled with great eats up and down the street - spoiled and tempted filling our stomachs and emptying our accounts. Rather than visit one of our jaunts (don't worry Bar Johnny, Pesce, Aux Delice, and Sushi Groove - we'll be back soon) we visited our kitchen for two dinner to di(n)e for.

Last night:
Sturgeon with mango, red onion, soy sauce
Asparagus with garlic, brown sugar, sea salt glaze
Salad with raspberries and black olives

Tonight:
Chicken in a masala sauce
Asparagus (yes, again)
Crackers
Blue Moon with orange (it seemed to round it all out)

Top chef, here I come. Bam. Wait ... Emeril, here I come.

Martha-ism

I am not a "good wife" (don't take that the wrong way - I'm an excellent wife, just not in the fiction sense - I cook, help remind Matty to clean, yadda yadda), I'm not a party planner extraordinaire, nor am I a Town and Country expo-ite/ism. I'm an Amber - aka ism in some senses.

I'm thrilled to be throwing our good friend Emily a bridal shower - Emily taught me all I know about party planning and throwing - but I goofed up. I guess Martha will never invite me on her show. After sending the needed eVite, I realized I scheduled the party for the same day as the Angel Island 25k (which I've already paid out the foot for). OOF! I think I need to start taking notes at Em's parties and on her planning.

Wheels and reels: to each their own

I’m rarely shocked at what I see in SF anymore. Friday as I was walking to work I dodged a woman who at first I thought was doing Washington Square workout (picture arms and legs widely flailing about) but really she was reeling – (my new polite term for getting sick). Later that day I saw a man (either a homeless man or art student at the Institute of Art) fall asleep and drop a box of crackers – drool reeling down his mouth (either a great dream or remnants of delicious crackers). Later I walked by his spot just as sleeping drooly was waking up – seems he woke up hungry because before sitting up he reached down, picked up a dirty drooled on cracker, and had a snack.

What a terrible segue from the peanut post. I'll grow up ... someday. Speaking of weird things on wheels (get it? Segway? Heh) ...

After a day of dodging nasties, just as I was nearing home I saw a shocking commuter (who I also had to dodge). Some people opt for the bus, others a car, walking for a few (like myself), and for that rare breed of ismnator, a unicycle. The spandex clad cyclist both shocked and awed me as he peddled up Lombard. Keepin’ the streets of San Francisco interesting one wheel at a time.

Peanuts make you fart

“When you eat peanuts they give you gas and then you fart – hahaha.” This coming from the steward (attendant – I’m not sure what to call the nice airplane people anymore) as he handed out peanuts and crackers to the other passengers.

Now I’m all for potty humor – sometimes I wonder if I’m a 5 year old stuck in a 28 year old’s body; really, though I think my humor just hit it’s peak at 5. But really, on a plane? With strangers? After handing out bagged gas-bombs, he went on to tell a row of seemingly uninterested passengers, “You know what’s funny? I was in a restaurant in Kansas, a Max’s, and on their menu it says ‘our chili comes with free gas,’ hahaha.”

Awkward.

That’s enough

I think my bad karma has kicked in from bloggishly complaining about all the airplane criers. I’m on my way home from Orlando and am seated just in front of an opera-wanna be. The baby has turned from white to reddish pink in the matter of minutes and has the lungs of a large singer.

The crying started well before we were all seated – I should have known better before taking this seat, but I just didn’t look. The mother has the baby perched on her lap with two other younguns in the seats next to her. The father is seated across the way and has taken to playing with the babies toys (avoiding taking over for a bit? Dunno).

Instead of the rocking and cooing I always see in movies, I keep hearing “that’s enough” and “go to sleep” - this coming a bit louder than normal because mama-flyer is listening to her iPod.

Crying baby is still in the phase of learning what all the different noises are and what her body could do. She hits a few high notes quite well – then drops to a baritone – the loudest and longest note she can holler. I think she must be watching animal channel or cartoons with creatures because she keeps making animal noises too.

Rad.

The good news for Matt is that I’m not so eager for the pattering of little feet anymore.

Food

I knew we had amazing food in San Francisco based on my travels ... and taste-buds ... and diminishing bank account (from Whole Paycheck - er, Foods - and eating out), but I never knew HOW amazing. After 1-meal in Florida (a beautiful state with wonderful people and nice weather) I'm SO thankful. I do think, though, to save America from itself, we should get rid of all-you-can-eat bars.

At dinner this evening I saw a group of young girls (I'm guessing 17-19 judging by their white tips (hair and nails) and short shorts) enjoy the all-you-can-eat 3 times but only consuming chocolate cake and soft serve. Now I'm all for a sweet now and again, OK, and again, but 3 stops with a plate piled high? Really?

Aside from watching others with a foodie eye, I watched my own table/plate/serving. I went straight to the "healthy" menu which boasted 3-items: steak, halibut, chicken wrap. I chose the steak and asked for medium rare to which I learned "it's already done, it only comes one way." OK. My healthful-starless meal was served grey and with a butter knife and something mashed up on the side. Hm. While enjoying my microwave meal (I'm getting meaner by the minute ... bless my heart ... I apologies) I eaves-dropped on the women next to me who were having a deep discussion about teas, chili, canned soup, and salt. The four food groups.

Organic lettuce? Paso wines? Free range chicken with Chinese broccoli and maybe a side of white peaches with prosciutto? Is that too much to ask? Yes? Thought so.

It's a good thing I'm lucky enough to travel - it opens my eyes. It also makes me not mind the SF rents so much - I thought Marin was a bubble but SF is mounting to be the same lot. Fantastic.

The one in front is not always the leader

On Saturday we enjoyed Mt. Play with Rob, Emily, and Margaret. As always the show was spectacular with singing, dancing, outdoor picnic, and flying monkeys.

After the show instead of taking the short bus back down the mountain to our car, we decided to hike down (a nice way to work off some of the wine, salami, and cheese we had feasted on for 3-hours straight). Scanning the hillside we found a group who looked like they knew where they were going, so we followed. About 1.5 miles down the hill, the woman at the back of their pack turned and said, “you know we’re going to the restaurant, we’re not walking down.” Oops. So we continued on another trail following another set of people. 4-miles and many turns later, Rob wised up and turned on his GPS (the power of technology) to verify we were pointed in the right direction. Nope. Wrong direction entirely. A mountain-side U-turn and much grumbling later, we found ourselves on the right path. The funny thing is the “right path” was cloaked in signs saying “Mt. Play hike to the bottom” – I guess following directions instead of the apparent leader(s) would have been the wise thing to do. Live and learn. That said, our hike was much more memorable and fun.

Ah Florida

I just landed in Orlando, FL, for the Gartner Application/Integration summit (thrilling, believe me) and am hot hot hot! It's muggy and hot here and I feel like I've stepped into a different country. I'm also amazed at how pancake like it is ... and while the landscape is uber flat, the people are not. Kidding. Oof, karma is going to get me.

F no, I want to look good for ther camera

The Rock & Roll Marathon pictures finally came out and I tried to grab a few online. I sent them (lovingly ... OK, and gloatingly) to Matt, my mom, and my dad this afternoon.

When I got home from work the conversation went something like this:

A: What did you think of my pics?! I did a marathon, did you see my pics?

M: Yeah ... you look kinda (insert picture of a dinosaur dancing while learning to fly and swim at the same time).

A: Meany. J-face. You try running 26 miles.

M: F no, I want to look good in my pictures!

Working out in style ... ism?

I still can't run (my feet are way too messed up to lace up) so I decided to go to Bar Method instead (no shoes required - awesome). In class there were the token Lululemon dawners, and then something new - a girl dressed in head to tow spandex with pearls. Now that's a stylish workout. Weird, but stylish. Maybe I should upgrade from my old sweats and running tops to a onsie with a fur collar? Maybe I'll just stick with being snide (insert mean word that starts with B here) and be comfy.

Fame in the fam

Just as I love running and San Francisco, Matt's brother, Gabe Taylor, loves snowboarding, golf, and Mammoth (to name just a few). I'm sure he and Amanda enjoy many isms - a handful of those involving snowies (made up word for snowboard roadies - it seems he has a few).

Here's a cool article on the Gabester: http://www.snowboard-revolution.com/rider/Gabe-Taylor-Interview.html

I do have to admit, the guy inspired me over the years with fitness and a need to do better. That said, I have no desire to ever jump off crazy snow jumps like the ones he does. No way - I prefer my feet on the ground laced into running shoes or Jimmy Choos.

Ah the places we'll see

One of my favorite things in life (right behind spending time with family and friends) is travel. I love almost any travel - in fact, I'm gearing up for a very exotic trip to Orlando next week. This past weekend Matt and I spent 4-days in San Diego for the Rock & Roll and I count that as travel. It was the most relaxing weekend away from home (despite the race) I've enjoyed in years. His family lives down there and it's always fantastic hanging out, eating Mexican, and sharing stories.

Today I experienced a brief moment of insanity thinking I could/should move down there. It came during a conversation about housing and rental costs - Kathleen mentioned a beautiful 3-bedroom, 2-story, yard and parking place by the beach that was running for $2,400. That hurts. But then I remembered the differences - San Diego always leaves me feeling a bit Ugly Bettyish as I do not have blond hair, a perfect rack, or polished nails and face.

San Francisco will always hold my heart in both a travel spot (hey, there are a lot of things to see here) and home. We have museums, the best food, beaches (they're freezing, but whatever), hills, and isms galore. I mean, how could I give up my favorite street dwellers? Mr. "The lady always walks on the inside" who sits on Polk gathering change (although I swear I think he has a house on top of Russian Hill) is only in San Francisco - in SD he'd probably be ranting about "the lady always wears the string bikini."

26.2 - Marathon day!

Because my brain is still not quite working (not to mention my knees, feet, hips, etc.) this'll be a short one. It was the San Diego Rock & Roll marathon today and it was quite a day. I finished just under 3:40 at 3:39:57 and, with only 3-seconds, I made it to the Boston marathon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy smokes (insert cuss words expressing uber happiness here).

You can view the finish line video online at:
http://video.nbcsandiego.com/player/?id=257801

I'm at 3:42:15 - yes, I know that's not under 3:40, but I didn't get across the starting line until 6:37:40 this morning and, by the power of technology, was logged - hence subtracting the surplus minutes from my actual time. Whew - I thought the race winded me, but that sentence was a toughy too!